The New Colossus
by MollyAtwell
Summary: As Tom and Sybbie Branson make their new lives in Boston, they create a new family, new friends and new loves. TomXSybil, KieranxOC
1. Chapter 1

New York gleamed bright on the horizon, it's snow covered buildings gleaming like something out of a fairytale, as the sun raced behind thick snow clouds to wake the sleeping city. After ten days on the rough winter sea they were arriving in what Tom hoped could be a permanent home for his little girl. She slept beside him in the last comfortable bed she'd know for a long while and the way her dark hair fell over her cheek couldn't help but him reminded of the ferry ride from Liverpool when he first took her darling mother to Ireland. How his sweet Sybil had rested her head on his lap as they crossed the roughest patches of the Irish Sea. Unlike his last voyage from England, Robert had refused to let him pay his own way, this time, and take Sybbie in steerage, 'In Boston she'll be Irish, Tom' he had said, 'Let her be English one last time'. So he had taken his father-in-law's money and kindness for what he certainly hoped would be the last time, but he had refused to emigrate first class on principle. So here he was, in his last compromise with the Crawleys, in second class.

He lifted his daughter still sleeping from their bed and walked to the top deck as he could see the ship slowing down from window. Kieran had told him in every letter he had sent, _you have to see it, be sure you see it, I will never forgive you if you don't see it,_ and even as a fully grown man his big brothers opinion meant a great deal to him and he could hardly meet him at the island and say he hadn't seen it. As a boy who had spent every free minute of his childhood on the Wicklow shoreline the salty winds and bitter cold of New York Harbour had been comfort in the change, at least the sea stays the same. And from the top deck with his darling little girl in his arms he could see her, the image, the promise that his people had flocked to for nearly a century never to be seen by their family or friends again, but seemingly never regretting their exodus. She rose green and glowing from the seam, torch guiding them safely to the country they would soon call home.

"Sybbie, wake up a stórín," Tom gently rock his daughter awake, her eyes flickered adjusting to the rising light, "We promised Granny we'd take a picture of you with the statue."

"Granny!" The four year old squirmed out of his arms and look groggily out towards the statue, "But we aren't there yet?"

"We aren't going there, you see that red building behind her, with the shiny domes," he pointed out into the bay towards Ellis Island and Sybbie nodded, "That's where we're going. Now, pose darling we're almost there."

He got to quick photos of her standing, mostly still, in front of the Statue of Liberty, when he was told to return to his cabin for the quick check.

They had been waiting in their room for about a half hour before their turn finally came and there was a knock at the door which Tom gladly opened for him.

"Good morning sir, just a routine check second and first class usually don't have any issues. So it'll just be a few questions." The officer softly chuckled at Sybbie, who was gazing, starry-eyed at his uniform, "Where did you depart from Mr. Branson."

"Liverpool, sir." The officer's gazed hardened.

"Excuse me?" He looked confused at his paperwork and then looked glaringly back up at Tom.

"Has there been some kind of mistake?" Tom's worry was fast turning to alarm.

"I don't know, paddy, has there?" The officer growled, "'Cause I don't know how Irishman afforded second class and I don't much like any of the ideas popping in my head."

"Sir, it was a gift from my…"

"Sure it was, you'll go through the line like all the other micks and I won't hear squawk out of you about it."

The door slammed behind the officer as he left. This wasn't at all what Tom had expected he was a good man, he had had a good job, he could have payed for that ticket if he had wanted to and so could many other Irishmen and women. Were they all treated like this? Had he done something wrong? Only another ten minutes passed before there was another knock on the door, a younger, if heftier, officer telling them to go down to steerage with the rest. The two dutifully walked down to the lower levels of the ship, which was hugely overcrowded with men, women and children each anxiously awaiting their next step. It was filled with shouts of Spanish, Italian, Yiddish, German and Russian and most comforting of all many, many Irish brogues. Sybbie Branson did look quite the thing in her buttons and bows among the rags of the other steerage children and got many a pointed glare mothers holding their children close to their chests. She didn't seem to mind, she talked excitedly with all the other children as the ship docked and first and second class were let out. By the time steerage was being flocked from the ship to the ferry that would take them to Ellis Island she had made a whole new circle of friends. Some of whom, she excitedly told her father were going to Boston too.

By the time they made it to the ferry it had started snowing, hard, it was worse than anything Tom had seen in England or even in Ireland. It pounded the ferry which gave them so little protection from the elements that every snowflake that hit their bare skin felt like a bee sting. Tom quickly took a page from the books of the Eastern Europeans around him and held Sybil close to him, wrapping his over coat around them both to at least protect her from the ferocious storm. Huddled together on the deck they watched as the Laconia slowly drifted from view and the red bricks of Ellis island came closer as the tiny ferry slowly waded through the icy waters of New York Harbour.


	2. Chapter 2

When the ferry finally docked at Ellis Island Tom, Sybbie and the rest were shepherded off the little and into the building where a group of interpreters were shouting in a great many languages leading them down to the great hall, once there the shouts changed and Tom stopped hearing English in the crowd, he held tighter to Sybbie little hand for fear they'd be yanked apart.

"Kofera! Kufry! Koffer!" The shouts called out, apparently English speakers were just meant to know what to do, "Valize! Walizki! Valises!"

"Bags!" Sybbie shouted happily, energized by the crowds, "Valises is bags!"

"Is that French, Syb?" he grinned.

"Auntie Mary taught me." Sybbie nodded, "She said every lady should speak French."

"Well then, milady, may I offer you a ride?" Tom knelt down in the middle of the crowd for Sybbie to ride on his shoulders, up and away from the crowd. They waded their way through the crowd to the luggage check where their bags were all neatly tagged, 'Thomas J. Branson', and much to Sybil M. Branson's pleasure her little green tote was label in her own name. Once they're luggage had been taken from them they were moved to a much more organized section of the building and placed at the end of the queue.

"Where are we going Da?" Sybbie mumbled into her father's ear already bored at the long line she could see from her higher vantage pointed curving at least seven times around the room into a second one.

"I don't know darlin, but it'll be awhile." Tom nearly didn't want to admit this to himself, he knew there would be some paperwork, but this seemed ridiculous.

Looking around them he noticed how lucky they were. Behind them a lonely mother tried to keep nine children together, she had tied the youngest to her back even though he seemed old enough to walk and held the one of the middle children cradled in her arms. The cradled boy didn't wasn't asleep nor did he even seem tired, but his left leg hung loose from his mother's arms.

'He can't walk,' Tom realised, 'He'll be turned away if he can't stand, they'll all be turned away.'

The busy mother of many frantic children trying so hard to do what was right for them, reminded him so much of his own, God rest her soul. And how her child's leg lay limp in her arms, skin-crawlingly like dead flesh, the way his brother Eddie's leg had hung from bed when he didn't wake up so many years ago, the way Sybil's arm had hung when he finally let go. He didn't feel like he was one of these people, he had two homes that would beg him to go back, he was coming here of his own accord. If God forbid he or Sybil were turned away here there lives wouldn't suffer, he could go back to Downton like almost everyone there wanted him too, he could go back to Dublin and start writing again, he could go back to Bray and work for his brothers, he could go back to Galway and work on his grandfather's farm.

"Da?" Sybbie groaned from her father's shoulders, "Will Granny and Donk have to wait in this line when they come to visit?"

"No, darling, 'cause they'll be in and no one will question them."

"Da? When will they come and visit?

"I don't know darlin', we'll have to get settled first." He'd barely thought about getting settled, the past few months had honestly just been an adrenaline rush of trying to get here.

Kieran had said the flat was furnished, but he wasn't sure exactly what his brother's definition of that word meant, definitely not nearly nice enough to let the Crawleys see it. And then there was the problem of Kieran himself, his dear 'cousin', he had known the Crawleys would have put up a much larger fuss about him going live with Kieran. He hadn't lied about the job or the accommodations or even his reasoning, but God they had hated his brother and if they didn't want him to move to a different city to be with Kier they certainly would want him to move to another continent. Kieran had come up with the cousin idea, as he had said in a letter 'from what you've told me cousin just seems to be a posh English way of saying 'related to me', for Christ's sake Tommy doesn't one of the ladies still call her mother-in-law her cousin?'. Which was a humorous assessment at the time but if Robert and Cora were to visit might actually get him in irreparable trouble. And besides all that he'd have to actually find things, they'd need a church, they'd need a doctor, by summer's end Sybbie would need a school…

"Da? What are they doing?"

Only a few more people were between him and the doors into the next two rooms, they seemed separating men and women into the two rooms. Husbands and wives being separated, parents and children, one mother seemed to be putting up a particularly big fuss about this screaming Lord knows what in Italian. Tom gently lowered Sybbie from his shoulders not wanting them to be as gawked at as that poor mother.

"They're starting the health check, a stórín. All the gentlemen go into one room to see a gentleman doctor and all the ladies go into another room to see a lady doctor. You'll have to go with the ladies, you understand?"

"But I don't want to go with the ladies!" Sybbie pouted and threw her arms around her father's legs, "I want to stay with you!"

"It won't be for very long, my darling, we're both right as rain so we'll be done with this in two shakes, right?"

"Two shakes." She nodded and stuck out her pinkie like Lady Rose had taught her, a kind of American way of promising something he thought it was a bit ridiculous, but it had become one of Sybbie's favourite things to do.

After a last hug and kiss, Sybbie was taken from his arms, he wasn't sure when they'd see each other again but he refused to let that fear show on his face as he waved goodbye. A few minutes after she was sent to the women's check room he was moved into the men's, there was a line of men and boys facing one wall, two doctors checking each one. It seemed like every time a doctor went to a new man a group of men would join them, they'd speak for a moment and all but one of the group and the doctor would leave again. As the doctor's came nearer and nearer to Tom he could remember every cough and sneeze and ache he had had the entire journey, what if he had caught cold on the ferry? Could they notice that? It was too late now, it was his turn.

"Language?" The doctor asked followed by the group of men.

"Oh, eh English." He stumbled and all the men went away, translators, leaving just him and the doctor. The doctor pulled at Tom's hair, moved his head this way and that, grabbed and turned over his hands looking for the slightest abnormality.

"Unbutton your coat." The doctor demanded in a low monotone and Tom was more than happily complied, "And a deep breath."

The doctor watched his chest with hawk-like eyes and then without another word went on to the next man. Tom was then moved into the next room, a huge room as big as the grandest halls of Downton filled to the brim with tables and chairs. He decided he'd wait here for Sybbie, he had barely be standing in wait a few minutes when a guard came over from the other side of the room.

"You'll have to take a seat for the interrogation." The guard said with some degree of nicety.

"I know, I'm just waiting for my daughter." He smiled, hoping a dose of Irish charm would win the guard over to his side.

"Can your daughter talk?" It seemed like a strange question, she was four years old and spoke beautifully.

"Well yes..."

"Then she'll have her own interrogation. Move along, Paddy." The guard shoved Tom towards the desks, almost making him trip over his own feet.

Sybbie can't have her own interview, he panicked, what would they ask her? What if she forgot something? What if she was turned away? He had no way of knowing, but even still he made his way over to an open desk. Two men sat opposite to him, in front of one was the shiplist and to tall stacks of forms.

"Language?" The man with the shiplist prompted.

"English." Tom managed to get out this time.

"Well looks like an easy day for you, Jack." The interrogator said to the man beside him, "Maybe you could run and grab some coffee."

Jack, probably another translator, went off to find coffee. It did start to make Tom wonder if any of the translators spoke Gaelic and how much trouble exactly he'd get into for asking.

"Full name?" The interrogator asked, grabbing a card and a piece of paper.

"Thomas Jude Branson." The interrogator flipped through the the shiplist looking for Tom's name and then quickly taking notes on the paper and card.

"Still 39?" Tom nodded, it didn't seem true, he hadn't said his age outloud in a long time but he'd be forty this October. God he felt old right then.

"Religion?"

"Roman Catholic." That was one of the things that comforted him about America, he'd get to be a good Catholic again. At Downton it was almost an hour drive to the nearest Mass and the looks he still got from the Crawley's for taking Sybbie to the Vigil this past Christmas made his heart ache, even four years since their argument about Sybbie's baptism.

"Place of birth and last residence?"

"Bray, County Wicklow in Ireland and Downton, Yorkshire, England." The interrogator kept taking notes barely looking up at Tom.

"And why the move to England?" A loaded question, to escape the revolution, to save my wife and child, to make Sybil happy, to give their daughter a better life, fear?

"Work." He stated plainly, the past eleven years of his life whittled down to one word.

"Civil status?" Tom raised an eyebrow and the interrogator restated in a slower voice and simpler tone "Are you married?"

"Widowed." He checked a box, the greatest loss of his live little more than a mark on a solitary piece of paper.

"And your contact on the outside, their relationship to you and their address?" He was worried about Sybbie getting this one right, he had written down the address for her incase they got separated, but what if she got it wrong? Would they know? Would they turn her away?

"My brother, Kieran Branson, and the address is 235 West 5th Street, Boston, Massachusetts."

"You're free to go, Mr. Branson." The interrogator handed Tom the card he had been writing on, "Your luggage will be downstairs passed the money exchange."

He thanked the man and left to look for Sybbie, but he couldn't see her little blue bow at any of the desks. Maybe she was still in the medical check. What if she had gotten sick on the boat? Or maybe she was ahead of him and lost? What if she had gone out into New York? What if someone had taken her? He begged for help from the guards, but each one turned him away. Move along paddy, shut up mick, drunk, mucker, donkey, clown. No one would give him a second look, no one cared his daughter was alone and afraid, he was a leech in their eyes, just another immigrant they didn't want and so was his little girl.


	3. Chapter 3

To say it had been a hectic day in the Branson household would an insult to just exactly how mad it was. The center of any Irish home is the mammy and this particular mammy had been in a state for a week, this was not to say that Mae Branson was a normally calm individual, but merely that coming events had pushed her to the brink of no return. They were expecting three new family members in the coming days, her brother-in-law and niece would be arriving in New York this morning and her darling daughter-in-law was due yesterday. For the past week she had been preparing the third floor apartment for Tom and Sybbie's arrival, for the past four years they'd rented the first floor, then the second when Brendan was married, it was small, but comfortable as anything they'd had in Dublin or Liverpool.

Mae had risen with the dawn as she did everyday, Kieran still sleeping peacefully beside her, she slipped quietly from the bed, tied her shawl around her shoulders to keep out the worrying cold of the January morning and began her morning routine. She lazily walked over to the statue of the Virgin and knelt down for morning prayers, on each bead of her rosary she said a different prayer, thanking god for her husband, her sons, their happiness and home, for her country and the family she left there, for Catarina's safe delivery, Tom and Sybbie's well being and her daughter's everlasting soul, genuflecting and crossing herself as she rose, she felt cleansed and motivated for the long days work ahead of her. The first task of which was as always getting her darling husband off his arse, she threw open the curtains only to see a blizzard out the window.

"Not today," she grumbled, pulling the covers off Kieran, "You've got shoveling to do."

"What? No, make Conor do it." He groaned, curling into fetal position, trying in vain to stay warm, which only got him a swift slap to the back of the head.

"Up! Out! Shovel!" He crawled out of bed to says his prayers and get to work while she started into the kitchen only to find it already occupied by Nora Bray, the midwife's sister, boiling eggs and flipping boxty.

"Mornin' Mae." She smiled lightly, sure of her next question she continued, "They're all upstairs, nothing'll really start for about an hour or so."

"Ah," Mae started doing calculations in her head as Kieran joined them.

"Does this mean I don't have to shovel?" Kieran asked looking rather pleased with himself.

"No, it means you have to wake up Conor he has a train to catch."

Conor, the younger of the two Branson boys had been enjoying his much needed rest, after closing the garage the night prior, soaking in every spare second of spare sleep he got when his father came in and shook him awake.

"Conn, get up lad." Kieran whispered urgently, "You have to go pick up your uncle."

"You're doin that." Conn groaned, rolling over in his small bed.

"Not anymore, the midwife's already here, so your mam wouldn't let me leave this house if the garage was on fire." He grumbled, he had been genuinely looking forward to seeing his little brother, but even he wasn't willing to risk missing his first grandchild, "So you doll yourself up and get to the Station in the hour."

Conn shuffled out of bed after his father left and dressed for the snow filled trek ahead of him and quickly said a morning prayer for Cat. Leaving his room to head of he was met by his father and Nora Bray, having tea in kitchen.

"Mornin Nora," He smiled, putting on his hat just to tip it to her, which warranted a small smile from her.

"Good morning Conor." The boy nine years her junior had been sweet on her since the moment he stepped off the boat, "Heading to The Island, I hear."

"Yes Ma'am," he said giddily.

Jokingly saluting his father he picked up the newspaper to keep him entertained on the four hour journey to New York and started off into the blizzard towards the Broadway T stop.

The trip had been a long and very slow one but rather surprisingly a non-stop one. He walked into the room at Ellis Island rather lovingly called the "Room of Tears" where fresh out of interrogation new immigrants would be greeted by their families and many a tear would be shed. Conn didn't know if he'd cry, but he had certainly missed his uncle, they had lived together in Dublin before he had left for England and he could still remember his father and uncle getting back from work exhausted and while his father sat back with his newspaper Tom would get down on the floor play with Conn and his sister, Kathleen. They were both eleven years older now and Kathleen was gone, but he had missed the joy that Uncle Tom's homecomings had always meant.

Sitting against the wall by the baggage collection he was trampled on, kicked at and he was sure the guards were starting to talk about him, he tried to curl himself up against the wall look as non-threatening as he could manage, but as soon as guard began to approach him a little girl with a sky blue bow and a coat as pure white as the snow it guarded her from trotted down the stairs, she matched exactly the photo his father had given him of his young cousin Sybil.

His world was spinning, the one thing that he had left to care for in the world had vanished from his sight. No one cared. No one cared for his little girl. As he shouted her name praying she would hear somewhere, the guards started to descend on him. The second one put his hand on his shoulder a call came from behind him.

"Da!" The girl grabbed his hand and pulled him away from the guard, "We were looking for you!"

The girl was about five years older than Sybbie, but with her blonde hair and freckled cheeks anyone would believe she was Tom's daughter, she looked up at him from under her navy cloche with determined eyes, eyes that understood.

"You have to wait for her down after the baggage claim," She whispered after they were passed the guards, "That's where my Da's waiting for me."

"Why would you help me?"

"You we're panicking, they take people away if they panic, you just have to keep walking, do what's asked of you, that's what Da says." She recited carefully walking past the guards glaring down at them with steely eyes. At the door down to the baggage claim a guard asks them for their landing cards, which the little girl gladly handed over followed quickly by her 'Da'. They were brusquely waved forward she skipped down the stairs ahead of him towards the baggage claim. The man working the claim seemed weary, tired of his job and the people who surrounded him in it.

"Name." The man stated.

"Thomas Branson" The man retreated into a long hallway lined with bags and baskets and trunks and came back with two cases, "Sir, has a Sybil Branson come through?"

"I'm not allowed to tell you about another passenger." He said not looking up from his paperwork.

"She's my daughter…" He began to explain

"Look mick, I don't care who she is. I'm not allowed to tell you about another passenger."

He tried to look as calm as possible as he stormed off, the little girl jogging to match his strides towards the room of tears as they passed through the doors into the famed room, the little girl runs into her father's arms he cried her name, Nettie, as he lifted her up, holding her close. Tom couldn't find his little girl anywhere still. He walked over to the window where the snow still blew harsh into the harbour, looking out through the storm he could see New York City rising high into the darkened sky. Sybil had always talked about her trips to New York to visit her grandmother with such joy and wonder, if only he could see it through her eyes. Down the long wall of windows a young man caught his eye, pitch black hair wildly poking out from under a newsboy cap, his bright eyes shining as he pointed across the bay and at his shoulder a blue bow bounced along side him. He pushed people out of his way as he tried his hardest to reach them.

"Da!" He heard cried for the second time today as the young man puts Sybbie down to greet her father.

"A stórín," he wept as he held her close, the Room of Tears greatly living up to it's name, "Mo leanbh."


End file.
